


Strawberries and Stars, Moon and Magic

by Beatsperminute



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Other, Slightly magical AU, Transphobia, fairytale AU, non binary character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:53:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatsperminute/pseuds/Beatsperminute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yamaguchi meant to rescue Tsukishima, but ends up hiding inside with them.<br/>****<br/>Pursuing magic was his gateway to finally leave his parents. For the king, it was a great relief to rid himself of his bastard son. </p><p>One rescue-mission-gone-wrong later, and Yamaguchi finds himself in the company of Tsukishima Kei, who hasn't left their tower in four years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Please (don't) help

Yamaguchi was tired.

His feet trembled from exhaustion as he struggled to stab and remove his dagger out of the thick ivy at a quick, consistent pace.

 He was never one of physical caliber—all he had was determination.

Both hands gripped tightly at his throwing knives as he reposed, his blisters worsening under the pressure. Yamaguchi was finally at the window, but there was only a diminutive sense of accomplishment.

The reason was illuminated by the semi visible sun—a person, who somehow balanced on the line of radiance and gelidity. He could see no out rightly feminine attributes, but the dark gold dress dazzlingly complimented even their most masculine features. They were astonishingly beautiful; it seemed to Yamaguchi the person glimmered. Although the sun was hidden beneath stormy clouds, every bit of light it released found a way to twinkle in their honey-brown eyes. All of his polite sense completely forgotten, Yamaguchi’s gaze lingered on their lean form longer than he'd like to admit. It also didn’t help that every single curve of their figure was outlined under the tight fitting corset.

He was reminded of the complexity of human genders, as well as his own undecided sexuality.

Whatever the case on either matter, Yamaguchi was taken aback by his damsel-in-distress’s exasperated grimace.

“Pathetic,” they greeted sourly.

 Yamaguchi started, mind rushing back into Normal Mode. The Beautiful Person was standing against the window frame, easing an elbow onto the ledge. Without offering to pull him inside, they stared unsympathetically as he sweltered with debility.

“Uh… um…”

If he was being honest, Yamaguchi didn’t think this far ahead. The lack of pre-contemplation and flirting expertise resulted in a _positively_ mortifying inability to speak with any sense of eloquence. He placed his feet firmly on the wall and straightened his back, feigning the confidence he most definitely did not possess.

Clearing his voice, he began saying, “I’m here to rescue you “, but the person cut him off. Probably for the best, he really shouldn’t use up the rest of his energy if he planned to take both of them back down.

The Beautiful Person leaned further out of the window, unabashedly scanning Yamaguchi who did his best to avoid their cold, penetrating gaze.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” they concluded apathetically, lifting their head off marble white fingers. “Careful on your way down.”

 Yamaguchi figured from their bored tone that perhaps he’s not the first suitor to come.  They give him another once over, before swiftly turning to walk away. _Dear lord,_ he pleaded helplessly, asking for divine intervention, also asking for absolution of sin as his eyes insensibly roamed over their figure.

“But— “

“But?” They halted, giving him only the side of their face. Yamaguchi swallowed what was left in his mouth.

“ _But?_ ” They repeated, incredulously. Their features molded into a sinister glare.

 “Are you an _idiot_? “

Yamaguchi blinked, legitimately pondering this accusation.

Then The Beautiful Person, resplendent even in the darkness of their tower, desolately whispered, “Princes don’t rescue people like me.”

Silence encompassed the ocean between them. They face forward again.

Neither of them moved. With the sun now completely gone, light rain littered atop Yamaguchi’s hair. He can't help but think that even from behind, the person was still positively ethereal.

“Well…” Yamaguchi said, breaking the silence.  

“I... would like to.”

Another moment passed.

They softly took in a breath, and continued walking away.

*

When he saw the person’s form retreat into the tower, Yamaguchi was utterly downtrodden. If the climb _up_ was bad, he could hardly imagine the climb _down_.

Still, he receded. Every virgin muscle in his forearms screamed in protest. As he attempted to console his aching body, he felt like his forlorn situation couldn’t get worse.

But of course, it does.

As Yamaguchi pulled out his knife from the thick ivy, he noticed it lighter than usual. He slowly brought his eyes up to meet with his fisted hand around the handle— _only_ the handle. The blade was stuck in the foliage. His heart sinks straight into his bowels, anxious pains punching his stomach. Yamaguchi hung his head thinking, _that damn shady merchant._

He was about fifty feet up the wall.  Underneath him, a scraggly bush.

As rain clouds thickened above him, Yamaguchi realized he was the living incarnate of Murphy’s Law. Afflicted and disheartened, he pondered his impractical options: One, using the ivy instead of his (cheap ass, good for nothing) knives (No. The rain was getting stronger by the minute and would make it too slippery to keep a strong hold); two, call for help (But the tower stood in the middle of a wall of thick, giant trees, and he was almost positive The Beautiful Person would have no issue hearing him helplessly beg for help for hours.)

Yamaguchi felt his warm tears race against the frigid rain down his cheeks. In a moment of desperation, he considered the likeliness of surviving a fall from this height. Although he would hate to inconvenience The Beautiful Person (who he now reflected on callously) with a corpse out their window.

 _Especially with one as_ pathetic _as me._

Just as his last bit of hope faded, an object slithered past his arm. Startled, his hand jerked to move away, causing his grip on the knife to falter. He yelped helplessly as he struggled to stay attached to the wall.

“Oi!”

Yamaguchi looked up. The Beautiful Person leaned out their window, hair and shoulders thoroughly soaked.

“Grab the rope!” This is perhaps what they yelled, but through his drenched locks slathered over his eyes and boisterous clattering of the storm, it was difficult to make out their words.

“Grab the—huh?”

“I said, _grab the damn rope!”_

Their fiery tone reaching Yamaguchi’s ears, he wildly gripped the lifeline between white knuckles. It’s stray hairs scrapped aggressively as his palms, but nothing was about to deter him.

Yamaguchi glanced up again. The person had retreated back in the tower. Stretching his hand further up the rope, he began his trek, filled with more vigor then before.

However, his water heavy clothes created a vexatious obstacle. The veins in his arms and neck protruded with effort, but every inch further from the ground was energy well spent. Yamaguchi always found it difficult to gain visible muscle, but growing up, he knew strength pertained more to the mind than biceps.

A foot away from his destination, his slippery boot lost its footing on the ivy. He gasped and water falling down his face lodged itself in his throat. Yamaguchi scrambled to tie his legs around his life line while coughing so severely his throat throbbed in aching pain.

The Beautiful Person popped out the window.

“I—I’m fine” He struggled to say. Yamaguchi was vaguely aware how silly he looked, clutching the rope so desperately.

They raised an eyebrow. Yamaguchi averted his gaze to his boots.

In an unprecedented action, they stretched long arms out the window and helped him the rest of the way, ignoring his soggy state. Yamaguchi was too exhausted to process this uncharacteristically kind gesture.

Now in the tower, with a small pond forming under him, he let out a long, indulgent breath. Gazing out the small opening as brazen angry streaks of light contrasted the overcast sky, Yamaguchi bemusedly recalled memories of snuggling in front of an extravagantly large fireplace, dozing off as thunder gently rumbled outside two-meter-high windows. His eyes fluttered.

Yamaguchi felt a light kick to his side.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep like that.” He was hardly even aware he’d closed his eyes, but now that they were open, it was difficult to keep them as so.

Looking down at him, The Beautiful Person squinted behind their glasses, now useless after being subjected to the rain. Drips fell from the tip of their nose and hair and weightlessly landed on Yamaguchi’s shirt. They made a small, almost rhythmic sound as they collided with thick fabric. _Pit-pat-pit—_

“I _said_ , get up.”

Yamaguchi sighed, wondering why he ever left the castle.


	2. Good Intentions

The fireplace hides Yamaguchi’s embarrassment. Tightening the blankets around his body, he tries not to think about how it’s the only thing he’s wearing. His eyes glance at his clothes hanging, all the layers of soggy prince attire. 

“Tea?”

Yamaguchi turns to the doorway. Now In their nightgown, the person holds two small cups. Yamaguchi keeps his gaze on the emitting steam rather than on their face.

“Y-, “his voice cracks embarrassingly, and he rushes to turn his face before answering again. 

“Yes, please”

He could feel the smirk swirling around their lips.

The person places the teacup next to Yamaguchi, and sits on the chair a few feet away. From beneath his shield of quilts, Yamaguchi inches his hand towards the cup. He struggles to not spill the contents as he sips at it before placing it back down. 

The person watches him with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t mind if you just sit around naked,” they offer.

Yamaguchi chokes.

“You wouldn’t be the first naked man I’ve seen, after all.” 

He doesn’t respond, choosing to stare wide eyed at his drink. The heat, either caused from the rush of blood or the fireplace, stretches around his ears. He sinks further into the blankets.

Understanding the gesture, the beautiful person shrugs.

“Suit yourself.”

They sit in silence again. Yamaguchi feels incredibly awkward, trying to focus on the crackling of the fire and the red-orange ember floating above it. Small talk was always something he’d avoid, but now it felt inevitable and almost rude, considering the amount of kindness his host has offered. Glancing behind him, he saw The Person reading with a bored expression. 

Yamaguchi gawks at them absently--At their slender fingers holding the novel, unbelievably unblemished skin, high cheek bones, and beautiful golden locks. He doubts he’ll ever have the chance to come across someone as remotely beautiful as them, considering his own face. But something was off. Yamaguchi couldn’t understand what it was, squinting at their figure. 

Just as he began to notice their slightly pinkish complexion, the person looks up. Startled, Yamaguchi blushes again. He quickly turns back around.

“Is there something you want?” they ask. He didn’t miss the suggestive tone. 

Not taking the bait, he replies, “N-no, not really.”

They hum in response.

Yamaguchi takes a deep breath, and glances back at the person. 

“So, um, do you get a lot of visitors?” he asks, attempting normal conversation.

“Hmm. Yeah, you could say that.” Without looking up at him, they continue, “None as wimpy as you though.”

Yamaguchi laughs awkwardly.

“I see…”

He gulped the rest of the tea, hardly noticing the burning sensation fill his mouth and travel harshly down his throat.

“So… why are you still here?” Yamaguchi keeps his gaze on their hands as they turn to another page. 

“Why do you think?” they retort. 

Yamaguchi wants to slam his head against the wall. 

The Person steals a look at him, noticing his depressed expression. Regret and pity sprout in their chest, although it only registers as heartburn in their mind. 

“Well, some people do stop by,” They say. The words pop out of their mouth without warning, startling even themselves. 

Yamaguchi looks up with expectant eyes. They can't tell if they find the expression adorable or irritating. 

“And what about them?” he inquires, grateful for the person’s participation. 

“Usually, those people prefer me without the dress on… and away from their spouses.” They flip to another page, the gesture almost callous after what they said. 

Yamaguchi closes his eyes.

This was going to be a long night.

*

The storm was still going strong two hours after settling into his makeshift bed of pillows and blankets. The rain caused humidity to fill the room of the tower, and now Yamaguchi regrets accepting Tsukishima's (the name of the beautiful and oddly hospitable person) offer of a nightgown.  
The cloth stuck to his skin. His hair, now dry, scratches the back of his neck annoyingly. The calidity almost too much to bear, Yamaguchi wonders if he should have just slept in his damp clothes instead. 

Tsukishima shifts, the mattress creaking underneath their weight. Yamaguchi twists his head to glance at his host. He only meant to catch another image of their resplendent face, but Yamaguchi finds himself studying them carefully (such is with beautiful people, he supposes). He observes Tsukishima’s sweat gleaning face, scrunched up into a terribly troubled expression. 

He sat up, minimizing the sounds so as to not disturb Tsukishima further. Their body was twisted beneath thin sheets, one pale leg sticking from beneath it. Despite the obvious redness to their cheeks, they shiver, arms tightly pressed against their torso. 

A pang of guilt stabs him through the chest immediately, and his own face scrunches with exhausted frustration. This entire endeavor was to end with _Tsukishima’s_ rescue, but Yamaguchi ended up being the one who needed saving, unnecessarily burdening them. And now— _this_. His distressed damsel-turned-savior suffers from a cold. 

He resentfully laments over his useless abilities, fingers digging through the sheets and scratching at his flesh. He can feel his mind sinking beneath waves of insecurity involuntarily, and he hated himself even more for allowing it. But then—a flash of light. He blinks, confused as to whether it was his imagination or not. When it happens for a second time, he lifts his head. In the corner of the room, dangling from a hook above the fireplace, sits his bag like an oasis in the desert. 

Jumping onto his feet without a moment to spare, he tip toes towards his hanging purse, the leather casing weathered down from weeks of traveling. He touches the expensive exterior carefully, feeling the decrepit strap and ponders on throwing this one out and buying a newer bag when he heads back to town. A voice in the back of his mind reminds him of his depleted funds, but he manages to shove those self-pitying thoughts away. 

The lock attached to the it was a dainty silver, somehow gleaming against the small of amount of moonlight the rainy sky could offer. He examines it with subtle touches of his fingers. The cold surface penetrates his fingers for a moment, before giving way to a warmth that matched his own skin—recognizing the unique and unmatchable qualities of his hand, as it was designed to do. It pops open. Yamaguchi tenses, startled by how loud it was even with the backdrop of rain behind him. He looks behind him tentatively, watching Tsukishima shift restlessly. 

Letting out a sigh of relief, Yamaguchi returns his attention back to his purse, the enchanted lock now loose in his hand. He hooks it over his pinky and ring finger, and uses the other ones to keep the bag in place as he rummages through its contents. The moonlight offers a dim light source, and he struggles to make out the letters of ancient script on the bottles. He squints intensely through the darkness—the last thing he wants is to accidently give his beautiful savior a face of warts. 

Finally, he picks out the right bottle: _Salubrious._ Inside were only simple herbs to cure influenza, although it does take basic knowledge of magic to activate and several hours. He grips it tightly in his hand, hoping he can finish before his host wakes up. _This is all I can do,_ he thinks. He spares Tsukishima a final glance before turning around to begin on the medicine.  
*

Tsukishima wakes up to the smell of strawberries.

The sun is hardly over the horizon, rays lightly penetrating through the open window. The headache that tormented them throughout the night was lighter, but still aggravatingly unpleasant.

They rub their eyes, brushing away miniscule crusts of sand. As they pull their hands away, their knuckles brushes against a damp cloth spread over their forehead. They press against it, confused. 

Suddenly remembering—and accusing—their freckled visitor, Tsukishima attempts to survey the room, but finds they could hardly make out abstract shapes without their glasses. Hands reach toward the night table, patting the surface gently before the tips of their fingers touch upon the smooth black frame of their spectacles. The side of their hand, however, also presses against a warmer surface. His head snaps to the side in surprise. The night table being as near as it was, they were able to almost clearly see a green mug, steam spilling over the top like a witches cauldron. 

They shut their eyes, suck in a breath, and hold it in for a moment before slowly exhaling. When he opens his eyes again, they make sure their thoughts are in order—a confused, jumbled order, but in order nonetheless. Tsukishima felt too much like crap for their senses to be assaulted like this; their limbs feel like lead, and their sinuses and chest were congested heavily. Just as they move to lay on their side and ignore the world for another few good hours, footsteps patter into the room. 

Yamaguchi stands in the doorway, holding a tray (where did he even find that?) with a bowl of steaming food.

“Oh,” He greets.” I thought you’d still be sleeping.”

Tsukishima wonders if sheepish-and-a-little-guilty was Yamaguchi’s default state. There was always a nervousness to his stance that made people think he hardly knew what he was doing half the time.

 _Pathetic_ , they think, as in ‘evoking pity’. Tsukishima remembers reading that definition in a dictionary as a child, although it was their less favorable one to use. 

No matter how sympathetic they felt, they sit up in bed, head spinning dangerously. They quickly peel off the cloth off their face, portraying their rejection of whatever their nosy guest was trying to do. 

“So, I, uh, made you porridge,” Yamaguchi admits, tongue second guessing every letter. “And… tea, I guess.”

He points to the mug with his chin. Tsukishima turns slowly to look at it, and then looks back at him through the corner of their questioning eyes. Yamaguchi matches their stare for a split second before looking at the tray in their hands. He shifts from foot to foot, which is when Tsukishima realizes he was back in his original clothes. Well, almost. He was still missing a stuffy layer or two, but they can’t help but admit that this casual look suits him more. 

_Whatever._

“Thanks, I suppose I should say, but I don’t need all this.” They motion towards the air with a slow sweeping movement of their hand.

Their guest nods silently. Although he doesn’t say anything, Tsukishima could clearly see his disappointment—in the thick swallow, the fallen expression, and oddly enough, the  
droop in his unmanageable strand of hair. 

Nausea and exasperation fill their chest. They plop down on the pillow, too exhausted.

“You ok?” Yamaguchi asks, worried.

They make a noncommittal noise, turning over on their side.

“Here,” he continues. Tsukishima can hear him approach the night table, where they assume he set down the tray. 

Grabbing the damp towel, Yamaguchi places it back on Tsukishima’s forehead, although it ends up sideways because of their position. 

“Umm…” 

Why is it that Tsukishima can feel him fidget nervously? They groan. _This is a new level of second hand embarrassment,_ they voice internally. 

To spare his visitor, Tsukishima turns halfway to look at him. He’s holding the cup in his hand now, and Tsukishima watches the smoke tumble over his slim fingers. 

“Um-” he begins again. Tsukishima sniffles impatiently, making Yamaguchi flinch.

“Th-this will make you feel better.” He catches their stare for a second, but looks away just as quickly. 

Tsukishima scrutinizes him, suddenly suspicious. They had the faintest idea there was something more behind their wiggling fingers and restless feet. 

“How do I know you didn’t poison it?” they accuse blatantly. 

Yamaguchi visibly panics, which was quite the sight; his whole frame just completely froze, and then practically vibrated the next second with all the motions he made. Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, watching his eyes dart back and forth and mouth open and close a few times. 

Finally, Yamaguchi looks into their eyes to exclaim, ”I would never… I wouldn’t poison you!” 

Tsukishima silently pushes off the bed with their elbows. They glance at the cup, then back at Yamaguchi, and finally reach for it. 

The contents surprise him. Instead of a dark transparent liquid, Tsukishima gawks at the gold drink, rippling as their hands shook with nausea. 

They look back at Yamaguchi expectantly. He pulls his palms up so they face toward Tsukishima, straightening up completely. 

“I swear it’s safe!”

Tsukishima lowers his face to sniff it. The strawberry smell was sickeningly sweet now. 

“There were a few strawberries that looked fresh, so I boiled some with sugar into the water, to make it more… palatable.” He scratched his head and averts his gaze again. Tsukishima thinks it to be less of a nervous action and more of a culpable one. Before they can interrogate him further, they notice dark bags encircling his eyes, bags that weren’t that bad last night. _Goddamit._ They usually didn’t care about being polite, but Yamaguchi was somehow drawing it out of them. Hell, Tsukishima scarcely knew what made them save Yamaguchi in the first place, remembering only how satisfied they felt to see his expression of utter relief. 

With a resigned sign, they close their eyes and sip shallowly. However, they recoil immediately. The strawberries hardly did anything to the flavor, and instead seemingly accompanied the bitter, sour taste. They feel last night’s food climb up their throat.

“Ick.” 

They try to move their head away from the drink, but Yamaguchi quickly steadies his tan, speckled hands over Tsukishima’s to keep the cup in place.

“Just take a few gulps. You’ll feel better afterwards, I promise.” 

Tsukishima takes embarrassing comfort in his reassuring tone, and allows him to squeeze his nostrils as they forcibly swallow the liquid.  
Once finished, Yamaguchi immediately releases his hold. Tsukishima pants and wipes their mouth. They don’t bother looking back at their nurse, feeling vulnerable and exposed.

They lay back down, stuffing their head into the pillow. With eyes closed and mouth full of cotton material, Tsukishima mumbles, “Do you usually go around snooping through stranger’s kitchens?”

Yamaguchi, who had been collecting the cup absently, jumps and almost spills its contents. Upon hearing his commotion Tsukishima’s eyes fly open, although he makes no move to show any concern.

His skittish expression wouldn’t meet their gaze. Tsukishima’s suspicion comes back from earlier, especially now that he suddenly feels incredibly sleepy. _Medicine doesn’t work this fast, does it?_ he questions internally. 

“N-no, not usually.” He clears his throat. 

Tsukishima studies him. As the seconds tick by Yamaguchi grows more and more uneasy, coiling into himself as if he were trying to hide.

“What was it you gave me?” 

He continues to tuck his arms impossibly closer to his torso, making Tsukishima think this was the last question he wanted them to ask. 

“It’s a remedying drink,” he answers defensively. They couldn’t be sure of it, but there was careful tone to Yamaguchi’s voice. _His answer was too quick_ , Tsukishima thinks.

“Drink, my ass,” they retort. “The only thing I can think of that tastes worse than that are potions-” 

Something clicks in their mind and they shoot up into a sitting position again, extremely aware of the lack of queasiness that would’ve have flooded them minutes before. 

Yamaguchi reluctantly meets their gaze. 

“ _You lied_ ,” Tsukishima accused. They feel so blind-sided; the golden color alone should have warned them. No, scratch that. They shouldn’t have been so trusting of a stranger to begin with. 

“Well, I mean, does it really matter?” Yamaguchi meekly retorts, clasping and unclasping his knuckles close to his chest.

Wrong choice of words. Yamaguchi knows this with one look at their face. 

“You know,” they begin,” I didn’t _have_ to save you. I could have let you _fall to your death_.” Their voice had a thick layer anger. Yamaguchi’s heart stings from their reaction. This wasn’t how he imagined this would go.

“I know, I know! That, that’s the whole reason I made it for you.” He lets his face fall as he admits, “It was my last bottle of Salubrious, y’know.”

“And what does that mean?” they ask, unaffected.

“It means…” Yamaguchi swallows, still not looking at them. “It means I have to start looking for regular food source.” Yamaguchi hates himself for admitting this, how pathetic he was at taking care of himself. The self-pitying thoughts from before come back to dance in rounds around his head. Tears burn in the corners of his eyes. _Crap._

“Wait, wait, wait,” Tsukishima asks, slightly shocked. 

“You’ve been relying on magic to keep you alive?” Yamaguchi nods. ”But, but-” Tsukishima fumbles to make sense of this and keep their eyes open. The throbbing in their head was gone, but now there was this annoying buzzing running around in the space between their ears.

“You’re a Prince!” they finally exclaim, words slurring. “And princes…they don’t study magic.”

Yamaguchi moves his mouth as if he were saying something, but Tsukishima hardly hears it. Their body falls onto the bed, balancing on the line of slumber and wakefulness. With great concentration, Tsukishima asks him to repeat himself. 

Yamaguchi sighs. 

“Was. I _was_ a prince.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooooooooooooooooook  
> So with school and personal issues, i was having a really hard time trying to write. But hopefully now i'll update more frequently. in fact, i already have the third chapter halfway done!  
> also, if you see he/him pronouns where they are suppose to be they/them, let me know. I unfortunatetly am not use to using those type of gender pronouns.


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